Race to Spot
by TheGreenNGoldAvenger
Summary: All is normal until Jack notices that someone is missing from their ranks. He then gets summoned by the second-most powerful force in Brooklyn. He hopes he can sort everything out.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary: All is normal until Jack notices that someone is missing from their ranks. He then gets summoned by the second-most powerful force in Brooklyn to sort it out.**

**Disclaimer: I own none of the characters from DISNEY'S Newsies. Only my OC, Blue.**

**Warnings: None, just a little fighting, nothing gruesome.**

I just crashed at the lodge after a long day of selling. All the boys were already back and asleep as I could see.

"Hey, Jack, you're back late." I heard Mush whisper as I walked past, dragging my boots across the floor. I was too tired to reply, so I grunted and kept walking. Mush got a kick out of that. He muffled his raucous laughter in his pillow as I walked past.

I stumbled slightly in the dark room and through the bunks to mine. After untying my bandanna, I took off my shirt and groaned slightly as my sore shoulder muscles protested the use. I tossed it on the bedside table and slowly put on my nightshirt.

After I finish changing, I climbed the ladder, careful to step over the fourth one (it squeaks), and into bed. Once the cotton blanket was pulled to my chin, I was out before I could even think of that bet with Racetrack I had lost early hat morning.

~oOo~

I woke up with Kloppman shaking my shoulder and the noise of all the other newsies getting ready for the day. I groggily pushed his hand away and made to get up. I climbed down the ladder, jumping the bottom three, and went to the washroom, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.

All the guys and I here know each other, we can distinguish voices from across the room and tell that it's them with our eyes closed. Like there was Crutchy, his higher voice always rose above everybody else's, that was easy. And there was Mush, with his bad jokes, and his twang. And then there was- no, wait. I looked around after drying my face. There was no Italian cockiness bouncing off the walls.

"Where's Race?" I asked aloud to no one.

The collective answer was a mix of shrugs, 'I don't knows', and 'maybe he got an early start's'. To that last one, I call bull. Race never got up earlier than he needed to for anything. I glanced at Snipeshooter, who was ready to go, sitting on his bunk which was right next to Race's. He looked at their table, and there laid Race's cigar, unlit and cold.

"Don't worry about it, Jack, he'll show up." Blink reassured me and put a hand on my shoulder.

"God, I hope so."

Once everyone was ready, I led the way out of the lodge and to distribution. Everything ran the same, minus our wisecrack. We all got our papes and headed out on the street with barely a word.

I made it about two blocks, and 15 papes lighter before I was stopped by a little boy. About eight by the looks of him. Dressed poorly, looked like a newsy. Despite his age, he had hard eyes and a set jaw, he was probably from Brooklyn. "Jack Kelly?" He asked. I nodded, a little unsure of what was going on. He extended his small hand, which held a folded up piece of paper. I hesitantly grabbed it and unfolded it. Written in a familiar scrawl, was a note:

_We need to talk._

_~Spot Conlon_

I looked down at the boy who was still there. "He wants to see you, now." Without waiting to see if I followed, he set off towards Brooklyn at a brisk pace. I hefted my papes and went after him, managing to sell a few on the way there.

Spot Conlon is Brooklyn's second-in-command. He was around 13, about a head shorter than me, and the fiercest person I know. From when he was about 10 or 11, Spot started seizing power, climbing the Brooklyn ladda. He's a strong born leader; he didn't need to ask for anyone's loyalty, or respect. If his stare didn't beat you into submission, then his cane would. Every member of Brooklyn had a wooden slingshot, and perfect aim. Spot was no exception. His aim was brilliant, and his power was deadly. His black cane was a symbol of his power, with its shiny, golden handle.

Spot has climbed up to second, the right-hand-man to the leader of Brooklyn, Blue. He's afraid that Spot will gain favoritism amongst the boys, and then, take his rank. So he makes him deal with all the affairs going on in the outside, like me, keeping Spot's focus not inside Brooklyn. Minimizing his contact with their kids.

Personally, I ain't afraid of Spot Conlon. So that's why I'm walking on these docks instead of someone else from Manhattan.

The boy led me to a fisherman's house, the same color as the docks, which served as their lodging house. He stopped just before the door and stepped to the side.

"All the way down, third door on the right."

I nodded and stepped inside. The only sound was that of my boots on the wooden floor, everyone else was out sellin'.

Once I got to the door, I rapped on it. "Come in." I turned the knob and entered. "Close the door, Jacky-boy." I pursed my lips and did so, holding back a snide remark. I turned and faced the room. It was on the small side, with a desk against the back wall, a mattress in the corner, and two chairs, one on either long side of the desk. The one facing me was occupied by Spot. His hat was sitting on the side of his desk, and cane leaning against it.

Spot pushed the other chair with his foot out towards me. I sat down, and put my papes on the floor.

"What's going on in your world, Spot? You're eatin' into my sellin' time."

"Oh, so sorry," He started sarcastically. "but we have a problem here, Jack."

"What now?"

"A territory problem. I caught wind of some Manhattanite sellin' in in Brooklyn." Spot put his hand on the table.

"None of our guys would go into Brooklyn, or even near it. You heard wrong, Spot."

"Oh, yeah? I heard wrong? Is that true? None of 'your guys' are selling in Brooklyn? Guess not. That's good. Good thing Sheepshead Races ain't in Brooklyn. Oh, wait, Jacky-boy, they is." Spot's stare intensified.

I looked back at Spot, and then something clicked in my brain.

"What did you do to Race?"

**To all my followers: I'm so sorry its been foooooorevvvver since I've done anything at all, but I had a hecka busy summer and with school starting I just ****haven't****found the time.**

**This is my first Newsies fic, i had recently fallen ****desperately****in love with the movie. **

**Review if you like it so far, and follow/favorite if you really did like it, I greatly appreciate everything! (And I promise that I will have the second chapter in by next Sunday, so stay tuned!)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Look! A chapter in a timely fashion!**

**I still don't own the original Newsies characters. **

I fumed. Spot better not of did something to 'urt Racetrack, or he's dead.

"Are you still saying no one's selling in Brooklyn?"

"Shut up, Spot. Race has been selling there for years." It's true, and has never been a problem or even brought up before.

I stood up so quickly that the chair tipped over and fell to the floor with crash. I didn't flinch, or even care.

Spot stood up too. But much more professional-like. Scooting the chair back, then pushing it back in when he stepped beside it. He could always keep his cool, and wanted to show me that he was the one in control, not me.

"Manhattan is a big place; surely you can squeeze this one in on some street corner?"

"He don't want 'some street corner'. Racetrack has always loved the races, how else did you think he got that name? He didn't just sell papes there; he made bets with the people he sold to. The people with permanent boxes there knew him well. All us boys knew that if Race could have one thing in the whole, wide, world, it would be one of them permanent boxes at Sheepshead."

Spot didn't seem moved by my speech. "I've got more boys than you that need space. It don't do anyone any good by having 10 on the same street, all trying to get a dime by the end of the day."

I tried to keep my mind on Race, trying not to see Spot's logic, and willing some of Race's trapped sarcasm to possess me.

"You heard me before. Race has been sellin' there for years, the crowd won't know your boys, and won't buy from 'em. You can try. But even Spot Conlon couldn't sell papes in Sheepshead." I turned to leave.

"You ain't going anywhere, Jacky-boy." Spot's voice rose. I could hear his sound tremble, like he was fighting for control of himself. With my back to him, I smiled with an idea. A put my face back to a calm expression and turned around again.

"And why not?" I calmly asked.

"You'll never see that Italian ever again."

"Are you threatening me, Spot?" I took a step closer, making him think he's getting to me. His new smirk told me that it worked.

"As a matta o' fact, yeah."

I rushed up to him, leaned over the desk, grabbed Spot's shirt collar, twisted it and drew him so close that he had to cross his eyes. His smirk turned to a face of bewilderment at this treatment. "Listen here, Conlon. If youse done anything to Race, I'm gonna find out, and you're gonna be done." I said in a dark tone. I felt like if that I had my boys behind me, they would be cheering.

I could see, in his crossed eyes, he was getting infuriated. He grabbed my hand and wrenched it off of his shirt. He didn't let go of my hand, which was now at a weird angle. I was being slightly pulled over the desk. His grip tightened, and I could see his knuckles go white against mine. His steel blue eyes burned into mine.

"This is my territory; you don't tell me what to d-"

"But is it, though? I thought you were only second, you ain't good enough to be leader." His grip on my fingers tightened even more. I winced, barely.

"Don't you dare say that! I'm more leader than Blue ever was or will be! He's scared of me, as he should be." He twisted my arm to the point where I thought it was going to snap. "I can take Brooklyn over any day I want to-"

"Then why don't ya?" I whispered through the pain in my arm.

Spot released my arm suddenly, like it was burning hot. He stared at me. "Didn't you hear? I don't wanna do that just yet. I'm waitin' for Blue to show some weakness, that'll make the boys noivous. Then I can step in without question. After dat I can easily take out anyone who opposes me." Spot's eyes looked murderous. He was lookin' at me like I'se the one who was opposing him.

"Why don't you just kill Blue and get it over with?" I asked, trying not to let him notice me rubbing my hand.

"I don't think they'd like it too much if I kill in cold blood. I'll do peaceful step-in, only fightin' if he starts it."

I think for a moment. Peaceful step-in. Ha. A smile spread across my face. "What if I start it?"

Spot cocked his head. "Whadya mean, Jacky-boy?"

"You wanna be leader; I want Racetrack back home safely. I'll start a fight with Blue, and you step in to try and break it up, or whatever. But Blue won't want to stop, you know that. Then you attack him when he turns on you. You wound him, don't kill 'im if can 'elp it. They boys'll see that he's unstable and unfit and will flock to you." I finish my explanation with a slight bow.

Spot pulled his chair back out and sat down, pondering the idea. "I don't know, Jacky-boy. That takes a lot of chance. I don't know if you would know how to start a fight with him." He stood back up again, crossed around the desk, to stand in front of me.

"Oh, that's alright." I bent over to pick up my papes and put them on my left shoulder. "Plans can change; maybe I'll start a fight with you instead." And then, with my free hand, I swung a right hook right into Spot's cheekbone. He stumbled and I bolted out there.

"Kelly!" I heard him scream and his boots thundered down the hall after me.

Now I've done it. I've broken Spot Conlon. And now I'm probably gonna die.

**Oh dear, what's next? Ok, lets see if I can get the next chapter out on/by next Sunday? **

**Thanks for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

**I didn't even notice the formatting stuff for this until very recently (thank you, fruitstickers) **

**Hope this is better!**-

I plowed over the boy who was standing guard at the entrance to the lodging house. "Sorry!" I called over my shoulder, but couldn't afford to slow down. Spot stopped to pull him up, but started running after me as soon as the boy was standing.

My mind became a crude map of Brooklyn. How do I get out of here? I usually can remember, but the pressure of someone chasing after me made me forget. So I just kept running.

The papes were slowing me down. I saw this one kid seated on the corner, he was basically out. I slowed down just enough to drop them on his lap without them all going everywhere. The startled boy tried to say thank you, but I was already gone, Spot was seconds behind me.

I looked over my shoulder to see how close he was. Bad idea. He was closing fast, and he had drawn his cane.

I turned my head frontwards again, but a little too late. I slammed into someone. I fell on my butt and scrambled back up. Before I could take off, that someone grabbed my shirt.

Standing in front of me, was Blue. He was 17, about half a head taller than me, and his shoulders were as wide as a football player's. Now earlier I said I wasn't afraid of Spot Conlon, well, that's still true. It's this guy that terrifies me. But in this moment, I had a plan to pull off.

"Watch where you going!" I yelled at him. I tried to pull him off of me.

"Who do you think you talkin' to, Kelly? This ain't home, sweet home here." He snarled. By this time, Spot had caught up. He was just as out of breath as I was, eyes still full of spite. He stopped and looked at us, I could see his gears turning while he put his cane back, deciding what to do.

Blue pulled me closer to him; I could smell the cigars on his breath. It was overwhelming. My eyes started watering. "What are you doing here, Kelly? I thought youse was doing other stuff."

I felt a hand on the front of my shoulder, and I got pushed back. Spot had come between us; he had the other hand against Blue's chest, which was about as high up as Spot's head was. When he turned towards me, I could see a faint bruise starting across his left cheek. "That's enough, Blue. He was just on his way out." Blue let go of my shirt.

"I'll be keepin' an eye out for you, Kelly. And you," He turned to Spot. "you watch your mouth. I's the one in charge here."

Spot kept his firm stare, but didn't respond.

He took a step, sandwiching himself between the leader and I, facing him. With one fluid movement, he kneed Blue right in the crotch. He gasped and took a few steps back, all hunched over.

"You dare…" He muttered, hunched over. I stared in shock.

"Yeah, I dare." He said. Then, quieter, so only he and I could hear it: "It's time for a change a' leadership." Spot uppercutted Blue and his head snapped up and he stumbled back, falling on his butt. It was hard to imagine Spot as being strong, since he's so thin.

As Blue got up, he was rubbing his jaw. "You gonna die, boy. I took you in when youse were barely able to read the headlines yourself. This is how you repay me?" By this time, a respectable crowd has gathered by. Most made up by Brooklyn newsies, but there were a few grown-ups.

Spot swaggered over to where he was standing. "I see you the way our boys don't. They don't see you stealing your cigars, or begging for your whiskey, or getting into bar fights about nothin'. A leader is supposed to be someone other people wanna be someday. These guys don't deserve it to be like you." Spot got everyone's attention, especially the small boys.

"They don't need you," Spot continued. "you ain't helpin' them."

Blue looked outraged at the breakout of his secrets. He stumbled forward to attack Spot. But Spot was small and quick, and easily darted to the side. He picked up his foot and put it to Blue's backside after he ran past and pushed. Blue fell forward and hit the cobblestone.

He slid a few feet before scrambling back up again, a scrape on his chin, traveling up his right jawline. I then noticed that I was also in the center of this fight circle, for the crowd was around me, too. I took a few steps back, merging in with the people.

The fight continued. Blue was his usual hot-headed self, just getting more and more agitated. Spot seemed to be in control. He was cool in how he so gracefully leapt from the path of attacks, not letting things break his exterior.

It was obvious that Blue was getting tired. His form was getting sloppy, so now, the ball was in Spot's court. He let go a ferocious right hook square in the jaw. Blue spun in a half circle. He stumbled trying to turn around. He tripped over his own feet and fell on his back.

When he tried to sit up, the end of Spot's cane was inches from his neck. His eyes opened wide and looked from the sharp tip, to Spot, and back again, and swallowed.

All eyes were on Spot, who was standing over Blue. I was holding my breath, along with probably everyone else.

All was quiet for what felt like forever. Then Spot drew his cane back to his hip and stepped to the side. "We'll talk later." He said, just loud enough for the people in the center of the circle could hear.

Blue got up, and looking from side to side, bolted out of the circle. The crowd disappeared when the fight was over. I pushed through to find Spot to talk to him about Racetrack. But when I got to where he was, it was just the other newsies.

"Where'd Spot go?" I demanded. They all pointed down the road. I groaned and trudged after him.

I ended up at the same house. I turned the knob, but it wouldn't turn. It was locked. I thumped against it. "Spot, it's me, open up!"

No answer.

Dammit.

I knew there was no use persisting. Spot had the will of a rock, he wouldn't budge. I set off fuming, back home.

~oOo~

All the boys were in the lodging house, waiting for me. I got bombarded with questions.

"Where were you?"

"Did you find Race?"

"Is he okay?"

"Why are you mad?"

"SHUT UP!" I yelled. They all went quiet and looked up at me expectantly. "I was in Brooklyn. Spot's got Race. I don't know if he's okay." I murmured that last sentence, almost choking up, biting the knuckle of my index finger.

The boys spread out to their bunks in silence. They didn't speak to each other for the rest of the night. Even though none of us were religious, we were talking God's ear off, asking for Race to please be safe.

**Thanks for reading!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Im still on schedule! (even with that formatting error from the last one, eesh)**

**I still don't own Newsies :(**

We all got woken up the next morning by Kloppman. He was waving a folded up piece of paper.

"Jack Kelly? Have we got a Jack Kelly?" He said jokingly. He prodded me with the paper. I rubbed my eyes and grabbed it. Once I was awake enough, I unfolded it to read:

_Come to the docks._

_~Spot Conlon_

"What's it say, Jack?" Mush leaned over.

"It's from Spot. He wants me to go to the docks." I jumped from the bunk to the floor. I quickly changed.

Crutchy went up to me. "You ain't going, are you? It might be a trap."

"I got to. It might be the only way to get Race back." I tied my bandana around my neck. "You lead everyone to distribution today. If anyone else asks, I'm taking a day to mine self." I clapped him on the shoulder, and went out the door.

On the walk to Brooklyn, I couldn't help fearing the worst. Spot was tough, but he wasn't cruel. He wouldn't kill Race, would he? The butterflies in my stomach began to get antsy.

Once in Brooklyn, two of the newsies silently filed in behind me from the shadows, like an escort. I put my hands in my pockets, nervously looked side-to-side and kept going. One more went in front of me, leading me to the right dock.

At the end of the dock, three figures stood. Well, two stood, one was sitting. Upon getting closer, I realized the sitting one was bound and gagged. At about 20 feet away, I recognized this one as Racetrack. I broke into a run for about three steps. My "guards" each put a firm hand on my shoulder, holding me to a walk.

When we got 10 feet away, I could take in Race's features. He seemed to be in one piece. Bruising was across his cheek, a hollow look about his face, but other than that, he seemed fine. The two other guys there must have been representatives for Spot, since he wasn't there.

I stopped walking when I was five feet away. One of Race's guards drew his knife. I balled up my fists, ready for a fight. The newsy bent down and carelessly sliced the ropes around Race's ankles. The other hefted him up by the upper arm.

The same one shoved him towards me. He lost his balance and nearly fell. I caught him underneath his arms and stood him back up. Race glared at them, and then turned to me, and his eyes all lit up. All the newsies left, in military fashion, and left us there. Except one. He handed me one last piece of paper before he left too, following his peers.

I took out my knife before bothering with the note, stuffing that thing in my pocket. Race could barely keep his balance on his weak legs. I cut through the ropes tying Race's wrists. I gently unknotted the gag, tossing it to the ground. Race flung himself around me, in a tight embrace.

"I ain't never been 'appier to see you, Jack." He whispered through tears.

I hugged him back, crying too. "Let's get you home."

~oOo~

We went back through Brooklyn, luckily, not bothered by anyone. "What did they do to you?" I nervously asked Race.

"Asked me a lot of questions. Like why was I was selling at Sheepshead. It sounded a lot like he didn't want me to." Race seemed slightly uncomfortable talking about this, so I didn't push it.

But Racetrack can't stop talking that easily. "And then, when I refused to stop sellin' there, he punched me in the face! Can you believe that?" He pointed to his cheek.

"Good news then, when I was talking to him yesterday, I punched him in da face. For you, I guess." Race smiled as we finished crossing the bridge back into Manhattan. "Oh," I pulled out the cigar from my other pocket. "Thought you might want this." I handed his cigar to him. Race stuck it in mouth, nearly chewing on it as he hurriedly pulled out a match and struck it. He lit the end and blissfully breathed in what he had been missing the past few days.

"Thanks, Jack. It's good to be home."

"It's better to have you home."

"Hey, what did Spot's letta say?"

"Oh, that ol' thing." I reached in my other pocket and pulled out the crinkled page to unfold it.

_Thank you._

_~Spot_

"Hey," I remembered. "What about that bet?"

"That don't matter anymore."

**So, happy ending good for ya? **

**Tell me what you think, its greatly appreciated!**


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